


Where have all the flowers gone?

by Mrs_Patterson



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Concerts, Crush at First Sight, Developing Relationship, Drinking, F/M, Inspired by Music, Past Torture, Pining, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Patterson/pseuds/Mrs_Patterson
Summary: Thatcher is off-duty and decides to spend a night at the pub.He meets a female stranger and they get along quiet well.Will there be a happy ending ?





	Where have all the flowers gone?

Thatcher walked through the dark hallways of the pub. He was off-duty ad looking for some booze and live music in relaxed atmosphere. The night was still young, but the pub was already crowded with people. He was on his way to the back of the room to order himself a nice pint of beer. Walking past all kinds of different faces, a young woman caught his attention. She was probably in her mid-thirties, had dark, wavy hair and wore a green dress with brown boots. She was caught up in a conversation with another woman but turned her head and smiled at him as he walked on by before turning back to her conversation. It was one of those genuine smiles that showed her teeth and made her eyes spark. Thatcher made his way to the bar, but his toughts remained with the female stranger. There was something about her that was very attracting to him. It might have been her rosy cheeks, the wavy hair, the long fringe that almost covered her vivid, green eyes. But the most fascinating thing to him was her broad smile. And then it struck him: She was happy and full of life. She was everything that he hoped to have in his life one day.

When Tatcher walked back with a bottle of beer in his hand, the brown-haired woman was stilll there but her conversational partner was gone. Thatcher saw that there was a guitar case leaning against the wooden wall of the pub next to the woman. He looked at the black guitar case. It was old and worn, but he thought it fitted her very well. She probably travelled a lot with her guitar. The word 'Aoife' was written on the guitar case. Aoife looked up and gave him one of her sparkling smiles. "You’re irish?", he asked, assuming it was her guitar. "Ulster. Belfast. I guess the name gave me away. I’m [Eva], nice to meet you", she replied softly. „Mike“, he replied. „Have you been to Ireland, Mike?“, she asked cheerfully.  
Thatcher blinked at her. He had been to Ireland before, his unit was deployed to control riots during the troubles in the eighties. It had been the time of bomb attacks, of chaos and confusion. He remembered barbed wire, the angry crowd of people, children with weapons. He could retell the the sound of breaking glass, the smell of gun powder and burning cars. He had lost friends in the troubles and saw children die. He had witnessed scenes he was expecting to see in places far away, not a neighbor country. He had not been prepared for the hate and violence he was confronted with.  
He finally nodded and Aoife smiled at him. "Did you like it?" 

The second time they met that evening was outside the pub under the streetlights. Thatcher had needed a break from the music and decided to get some fresh air. The sounds from inside the pub were muffled as soon as the door closed behind him. He stepped on the street when he spotted a familar face in the rain. Aoife leaned against the wall and smiled at Thatcher as soon as she recignized him. She had just finished her cigarette and fetched a pack of cigarettes from her pocket to light another one. She held the cigarettes into his direction but he declined politely. Thatcher hadn’t smoked a cigarette in years. He had been a heavy smoker in his younger years, but quit smoking in 1991 after returning from the first gulf war.  
A quick look at Aoife’s pack revealed that she smoked monthol cigarettes.

For once he was glad that he lost his sense of smell. Menthol cigarettes reminded him of a dark cell, of blood and broken bones. He remembered being captured, cuffed and blindfolded. He had smelled him, before he could see him. Some senior military commander, responsible to make him talk. He had smelled of cheap cologne and menthol cigarettes. Thatcher had gotten a few hours to answer their questions before they changed their tactics to torture supported interrogations. The following days he had been beaten, put in stress positions, been deprived of sleep, water and food. Only from time to time he was promised better treatment in case of cooperation. On those occasions he was given one or two of the commander’s menthol cigarettes. He had accepted anything his captors offered him. Smoking usually allowed a small respite from the beating and further treatments he received otherwise.

Where Thatcher had soon been beaten up, blooddied and dirty, the commander was still walking up to him in neatly polished boots, smoking his menthol cigarettes where Thatcher hadn’t eaten in days. He hated this man, always clean, always smoking in his face, always showing his superiority in this situation. When the commander realized that he wasn’t getting his infomation and saw the illusion of his superiority fading, he lost his temper. One of the guards, a common soldier, hit Thatcher in the face with the butt of his rifle. He felt an unbearable pain and when he regained his vision he found himself on the floor. He was bleeding from his left ear and knew immediately that his skull was fractured and he was critically injured. Thatcher was convinced that he wouldn’t make it through the night like this but he did. The only lasting damage was the loss of his sense of smell. The last thing he ever smelled were the commander’s despised menthol cigarettes.

Aiofe blow the smoke in his face nonchalantly and got him back to the present immediately. She leaned over and came very close to Thatcher.  
"Meet me after the show", she offered with a broad smile as she let go of his arm and walked back inside. Her invitation left Mike with a warm feeling, despite the cold and rainy night. He was starting to wonder whether this could work.

Thatcher made his way right to the front of the stage where the pub owner had already started to introduce Aoife as the gig for the night.  
"We’ve got a lovely singer here tonight at the Old Inn. She came all the way from Belfast. Please welcome Aoife." The audience started gathering in front of the stage and clapped as Aoife entered the stage, grabbed her guitar and stopped right under the spotlight. She smiled at the audience, then started tuning her accoustic guitar.  
Aoife casually played some chords as she introduced herself to the audience.

She tucked a strand of untamed hair behind her ear and looked down at her guitar. "So the first song I’d like to play is one of my personal all-time favourites. In times like these it’s so important to stand up against war and violence. So, I’d like to start with an anti war song and you’re all invited to sing along with this one. It’s called 'Where have all the flowers gone?'"

Thatcher grabbed his bottle of beer a little tighter. Had he really thought that he could find someone who would share the life he lived and deal with his burden?

"Where have all the soldiers gone?  
Gone to graveyards every one  
When will they ever learn?  
When will they ever learn?"

And with that, he downed his beer and left the Inn.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know the song 'Where have all the flowers gone' I highly recommend to check it out.  
> It is a lovely song that gave me the idea to write this fic.
> 
> Personally I think good ol' Thatch deserves some love but at the same time I was tempted to not make it work.  
> Aoife is a blast from the past, she is everything that Thatcher wants but cannot have.  
> Sorry but I had to do it.


End file.
